The Party Season Read Online Free PDF Page B

near, so she might take me,' I concede. I haven't got a car and Gerald's puritanical attitude towards expenses is ingrained in all of us.
    'Mr Monkwell says the estate has never organised anything like this before. It's their first official event.'
    'They have never been a working estate. The house and grounds were always strictly private. I can't see Simon Monkwell welcoming anyone with open arms.'
    'Well, Simon Monkwell is abroad so you won't see him.'
    'Good.'
    The Pantiles estate. I never thought I'd be going back there. A rush of memories overwhelms me as I think of it. What a beautiful place it is. The Monkwells own the estate, the village and a couple of thousand of acres of land besides. When I was about eight we moved back to England and we ended up living on the estate in a cottage only a few minutes away from the main house. Pantiles, Monty and Elizabeth Monkwell, Simon and his brother Will became my whole world and, until I turned eleven, I absolutely adored that golden family.
    'If this is the first time the estate has done anything like this then we could be in on the start of something highly profitable,' Gerald says, interrupting my thoughts. 'You'll probably need to clear at least the week before the ball due to the timescale problems. Mr Monkwell said you could stay with them if you need to rather than keep going back and forward to London. Wouldn't hear of anything else. It would save us on travel expenses. Whereabouts in Suffolk is the estate?'
    'Little village called Pantiles. Quite close to Bury St Edmunds.'
    'He said he was looking forward to seeing you again. God knows why you haven't mentioned these people before, Izzy.'
    'I've told you. Simon and I just don't get on. In fact, I don't think it would be an exaggeration to say that he positively hates me.'
    'Why? You're pretty innocuous.' This is a compliment coming from Gerald.
    I shrug. 'I really don't know.'
    'It'll probably be something trivial, knowing kids. Did you get on well with the rest of the family? Would that be too much to ask? How about Monty Monkwell?'
    'Oh yes! I loved the rest of the family.'
    But most of all I adored the boys. Having one sister, no brothers and a frequently absent father, I found the presence of male company incredibly refreshing. At first Simon and I got on brilliantly; he treated me as though I was his baby sister and I loved every minute of it. We were together constantly, talking in our special made-up language which nearly drove our parents to distraction.
    'Anyway, is the date free?' asks Gerald.
    I turn my diary to the suggested weekend and frown. 'Mrs Cherington's drinks party.'
    'Could you take that Aidan?'
    'Not on your nelly! That old battleaxe! I'd rather …' He trails off as he catches sight of Gerald's face. 'Yes, of course I can.'
    'Good! Simon Monkwell's secretary wants your CV faxed up along with a signed confidentiality agreement.'
    'A confidentiality agreement? Why?' A confidentiality agreement is considered perfectly normal if the event is high-profile but not for something like a charity ball.
    'Presumably because something might be confidential,' Gerald says in his best morons voice, raising his eyes to the ceiling with a sigh. 'Isabel, it might have escaped your notice these last few weeks but Simon Monkwell is trying to complete a hostile takeover of a rather large manufacturing company. I daresay the family might be worried you could hear something you shouldn't. Pull yourself together, for God's sake. You normally know exactly what's going on.' I blink at Gerald, realising he's right. Aidan jumps into the awkward silence with both feet. 'Oh look!' he exclaims. 'Here's my smelly pineapple rubber! I've been wondering where that had got to!'
    Back at my desk, I try to concentrate on a seating plan for Lady Boswell's Nordic Ice Feast but my thoughts keep straying to Simon Monkwell. Just as I thought I had forgotten all the hurt he caused me, which had been dragged up from the depths of my memory